So It Is Written
by cyher
Summary: When Ryan is hurt on the job, Castle realizes just how unlike the books life is. (Originally posted on AO3.)
1. Chapter 1

It was a bad idea. Castle could feel it in his bones, and he was sure Kate and the others could too. But what could they do? The suspect in a double homicide with ties to organized crime was about to get away. They had called for backup, of course, but it would never get there in time. So instead, they went into the darkened warehouse by the pier. Silently they traveled through, Beckett, Esposito and Ryan with guns drawn, Castle trailing behind them.

The warehouse was dark and full of shipping containers stacked more than head-high and forming a maze in the large room. Finally, they reached a clearing. Castle kept his eyes peeled, looking left, right and ahead. There was a small gap in front of him, and Ryan had just taken a side-step to his left, offering him cover, when the shot rang out.

In that instant, everything was in slow motion. He saw Ryan jerk and fall backward, one hand removed from his weapon and in the air. He was halfway to the ground before Castle reached his hands out, just in time to stop Ryan's head from slamming into the cement floor.

Ryan lay there, unmoving, unconscious. There was a hail of gunfire from their unseen assailant, Beckett and Esposito. Castle didn't know if they knew Ryan had been hit. He yelled over the roar, and they must have heard him, but not really *heard* him.

"Castle, get the hell out of here!" Beckett yelled as she moved to the left and Esposito moved to the right.

Castle grabbed Ryan by the vest and, hunched over, dragged him until they were hidden behind a row of the shipping crates where it was safer to haul Ryan to his feet. Draping one of Ryan's arms over his shoulder, Castle bent at the knee until Ryan's body had followed suit. Gripping Ryan's wrist in one hand and wrapping his other arm around his thigh, Castle rose.

It was a perfect fireman's hold, learned while researching the second Derrick Storm novel, and Castle never imagined he'd actually be using it. Shots continued, he could hear automatic weapons now, but he didn't have time to dwell on it. Once he was secure in his grip, he did as Beckett had ordered and got the hell out of there, running as fast he could and not stopping until he saw the night sky.

Once the metal of the building was behind him, Castle dropped Ryan on the pavement outside and scrambled for his phone, stabbing at it before bringing it to his ear as an all too calm dispatcher asked about his emergency.

"I need help," he said. His voice was shaking and sounded foreign to his own ears. "An officer's been shot."

He gave the 911 operator all the pertinent information, but as he could begin to see blood seep out onto the pavement, the words caught in his throat. The phone fell to the ground with a clatter as Castle dropped to his knees.

With shaking fingers, he undid Ryan's bulletproof vest. Even with everything he'd seen in his time with the 12th, the bloody pool forming on his friend's chest was enough to make him feel ill. He glanced away only once, swallowing bile before turning back with resolve and laying a hand over the wound.

Ryan winced in pain. A strangled cry escaped his lips.

"It's going to be okay," Castle whispered. "You're going to be fine. Help's coming."

When Castle was a kid, one of the first writing tips he got was to read. "Read everything you can." And so he had. In his years, he'd read countless stories where the hero - or someone important to them - lay wounded in a street.

In many of those stories, the character would lie there, almost peacefully, their eyes slipping in and out of focus as they made one last statement of love or comfort or rousing inspiration for whoever remained, usually offset by a few ellipses every third or fourth word depending on how serious it was - and when the statement was given, the injured would roll his head to the side as the light faded from sometimes-closing eyes.

This wasn't like that.

There were no halting "Tell Jenny I love her"s or "Get the bastard that did this to me." No reassurances that everything would be fine, and if it wasn't, it certainly wasn't any of their faults.

No. Here, on this street, Ryan's whole body was tense. His breath came in shallow, gasps as he struggled both to draw air and to avoid screams that probably wouldn't have come anyway. His eyes locked onto Castle, defiant of any darkness that might come for him. He didn't need words - broken by poor writing choices or not - to tell the world that he was going to fight death until it dug its claws in and dragged him away.

A flash of worry crossed Ryan's eyes once, and he reached a shaking hand to paw at Castle's chest. It was a laborious movement, causing effort and pain, and Castle was quick to grab Ryan's hand in his own.

"Lie still," Castle said. "It's okay. I'm not going anywhere. And neither are you." He squeezed Ryan's hand, and Ryan squeezed back. Not as tight - and certainly not as tightly as Castle would have liked - but the gesture was infused with the same resolve that lived in Ryan's eyes.

"I'm not going anywhere," it said.

The rest of the world faded to a dull hum. Castle thought he could still hear gunshots and sirens - voices even. And if he cared to focus on it, he would probably see flashing lights in his peripheral vision. But none of that mattered. In that moment, he was there, 100 percent, one hand holding Ryan's and the other pressed to his torso as they stared at each other, neither daring to look away.

It wasn't until he felt hands on his shoulders, pulling him back, that anything else registered.

"Sir, let us in," a paramedic said.

Castle let go of Ryan's hand as she pulled him away,but kept his eyes steady. Ryan turned his head slightly, his eyes following Castle. Were they less focused than they had been?

It wasn't until Ryan was surrounded - completely hidden in a sea of legs and equipment that Castle looked away. Everything came rushing back. Sounds. Smells. Sights.

His brain pounded. He ached. And when he couldn't stand it anymore, he lowered himself to the ground, his back resting against the front tire of a police car. With a shudder, he ran his hands through his hair and tried to shut out the world.


	2. Chapter 2

Beckett and Esposito entered the ER at a run. They found Castle almost immediately. He was alone on a wooden bench, leaning his head against a wire rack of latex gloves and neatly sealed packs of gauze. The other visitors were giving him a wide berth.

"Castle!" Beckett called. He didn't look so bad. A little out of it, but who wouldn't be? It wasn't until they drew nearer that she realized the blood on his earlobe was just a precursor to the streak on his neck and his hands. Even his shoes. "Castle," she said again as she knelt in front of him and placed a hand on his arm, trying to ignore the stiffness of the maroon fabric that shouldn't have been so dark across the shoulders and at his cuffs. "Hey, look at me." She moved her hand to his cheek and turned it toward her. "Castle!"

He jolted slightly and turned his face toward her, his eyes finally gaining a bit of focus.

"Kate?"

"Hey," she answered with a smile. "You okay?"

Castle shuddered and ran a hand through his hair, wincing as it caught in a tangle, pulling free a few strands flecked in brownish red. "He, uh...he saved me," Castle said.

"Way I hear it, you did the saving here, bro," Esposito said. His voice was low and breathy, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy.

"Maybe," Castle muttered. "He's in surgery right now..."

Beckett moved to sit next to him on the bench. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders, once again trying to ignore everything that was wrong. Esposito stood, shuffling his weight from foot to foot. With a cough, he caught Beckett's eye. Do you need me here? His look said. Can I go?

Beckett nodded almost imperceptibly and turned her attention back to Castle as Esposito disappeared around a corner.

"It should be me in there," he said. His voice was far away.

"Castle-"

He shook his head, silencing her objection and reached into the gap between the rack of supplies and the bench. When his hand emerged, it held his own kevlar vest. A streak of red slashed across it, as if some overzealous copy editor had decided the word WRITER didn't really need a T or an E, after all.

"I don't understand."

Castle tapped his finger next to the I. She leaned forward and squinted until she saw it - right next to a lone red spot (Ryan's thumbprint, she thought before she could stop herself) - a small dimple in the vest's outer fabric that seemed to turn the letter into a sick lowercase.

"Castle, that 's nothing," Beckett said. "It could be from anything - a pebble that got kicked up somewhere, or-"

"He stepped right in front of me. Just before it happened. I was-"

"Castle," Beckett said. "That's not possible. The angle alone...and these are bullet-proof vests,"

"Bullet-resistant, you know that," he interrupted. "Ryan definitely does."

"Castle, stop," Beckett said, almost hating herself for the touch of edge that creeped out at the man responsible for dragging one of her detectives out of harm's way. "Are there armor-piercing bullets? Yes. Did our shooter have them? It sure looks like it. But - ignoring everything else - do you know what kind of ammunition it would take it go through two layers of kevlar and still be intact to hit the next person in line?"

"Do you?" Castle asked.

His words threw her. Quietly she stared at him before turning away.

"What's done is done," she said. "We can't rewrite the past or wish it away or wake up from it. All we can do is hope and pray for the best."

He nodded and leaned into her, holding her hand in the quiet moment. He barely noticed when Esposito returned with a janitor in tow. It was only when Esposito called his name - twice - that he looked up.

"Ed here says there's a locker room with a shower in the basement, if you want to use it." Castle stared numbly at him until Esposito reached out a hand. "Come on, bro. Let's get you cleaned up."

The basement was a dark place with cement floors and walls. Pipes snaked along the ceilings, and the rumble of an industrial dish washer could be heard well before they passed the door to the steamy, damp room where a handful of workers dumped trays, sprayed pots and pans and fed them into the stainless steel machine.

The locker room - if you could call it that - felt small. Barely big enough for Castle and Esposito to stand in. A handful of lockers lined one wall, some padlocked, some not, and a folding chair sat in a corner beneath a rod that held a few jackets hanging limply from wire hangers. Beyond them were two toilet stalls, a urinal and one shower. A claustrophobic hole in the wall lined with tile and separated by a vinyl curtain.

Esposito left, and Castle stripped, draping his clothes over the folding chair. He was careful with his shirt. There was a part of him that wanted to rip it off, giving not a thought for the buttons or fabric, and throw it into the trashcan. But he couldn't. Because, sure, maybe the shirt was ruined with stains that would never come out, but he'd seen some amazing feats at the hands of his cleaners. It was stubborn, maybe it was stupid, but he clung to that shirt, refusing to give up hope. Because once he started down that path, he didn't know if he'd be able to stop. He had to believe that everything would be okay.

In the shower, the cold water stung like needles as it hit his skin. A hand pump full of green goo jutted out from the wall. Combination shampoo/body wash. He gave the lever a few pushes and watched as the soap squirted into his palm. For a moment he watched it drip down his fingers in slimy streaks and felt like a creature from the B-movies he watched as a child. With a shake of his head, he pushed the thoughts away and rubbed his hands together until the soap morphed into a surprisingly thick white lather.

He closed his eyes and brought the foam to his face. It smelled faintly of mint and aloe and was oddly comforting as it washed over him. With the water finally warm, he stuck his head into its stream, letting the drops wash away the soap and grime. He pumped more of the soap into his palm and started on his hair. It was stiff at first, but as he ducked his head under the stream and massaged the soap into his scalp the task became easier. He was beginning to feel almost human again when he opened his eyes.

A dollop of suds had curled around his wasn't a pure white like shaving cream. It wasn't dyed a shade of pink befitting a piece of cotton candy fluff - either he could have handled, though one would have been a much more comical discovery. This was shades of a rusty brown that slowly devolved into a frothy puddle before swirling down the drain.

It looked exactly like what he imagined dried blood reconstituted in soapy water would look like. Ryan's blood.

His hands shook, and a queasy feeling began to overtake him. Gasping for breath, he leaned forward, cranking the handle of the shower all the way to the right and stood unmoving, his hands pressed firmly against the wall as icy drops of water fell around him. Shaking, he concentrated on one tiny breath at a time until the sick feeling began to fade. He'd been around death before. Plenty of bodies at the morgue - not to mention bloody, gruesome crime scenes themselves. But this was different. This was his friend's blood circling down the drain.

The door to the locker room swung open and Esposito's voice filled the small room.

"Yo, Castle. How's it going in there?"

"Fine," he answered. He tried to keep his voice as normal as possible despite the shiver that had overtaken him. He turned the faucet back to the left and waited for the water to warm again.

"I got a towel and a scrub top for you," Esposito continued. "Best we could do on short notice. Want us to call your place? Have Alexis or your mom bring a change of clothes?"

"No!" Castle exclaimed as he stuck his head out from behind the curtain. "Do you have any idea how much that would freak them out? Scrub's fine." He smiled. A fake smile, but a smile nonetheless and Esposito didn't seem to notice the difference. "Maybe I'll write about doctors next."

"Yeah, okay. And I've got a bag here for your other shirt, if you want."

"That's great, Espo, thanks."

"You okay to find your way back upstairs?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll find you guys."

Esposito nodded and left. As the door swung closed, Castle turned back to the shower. Keeping his eyes on the tiled wall in front of him, he pumped the soap dispenser one more time, ran his hands across his body, rinsed and left the confining space behind. Sure enough, a folded beach towel and a plastic-wrapped hospital shirt were sitting on the chair near the lockers.

The thin towel had a mustachioed man and his race car emblazoned across its middle. Someone had written the name "Ed Mitchell" near the hem with permanent marker in small block letters. A sarcastic comment on NASCAR fans tried to enter his mind, but a memory pulled ahead and pushed it away.

 _"Ed here says there's a locker room with a shower in the basement, if you want to use it."_

Ed was the hospital janitor who didn't have to tell them about this locker room for workers who didn't have access to the ER and surgical staffs' shower rooms. He was the man who certainly didn't have to loan Castle a soft towel that smelled of floral home detergent rather than a scratchy hospital towel. Who cared if he spent his free time watching cars drive in circles? Castle quickly pushed all those thoughts away and focused on drying off and getting dressed.

Most of his clothes were okay to wear again, and when he was in them, he turned to the wrapped shirt Esposito had left. A sticker in the corner had a barcode and price list of $15. He wondered if Ed had "liberated" the shirt from a storage closet or if he or someone else had picked up the tab. Castle vowed to find out as he tugged at the plastic, stretching it until it gave way with tear. The synthetic fabric felt strange against his fingers. Almost like a cheap dress shirt that had been overly starched. The creases from where it had been folded stubbornly hung on as he shook the shirt loose and pulled it over his head, but he didn't care. At least it was clean.

Finally, he turned to his own shirt. Carefully, he lifted it with his thumb and forefinger, held it far from his body and depositednit in the bag Esposito had left. He couldn't bring himself to touch it further.

He had almost made it back to the ER waiting room when he heard a woman's voice call out. He stopped just shy of turning the corner, peering around it instead.

"Javier!" Jenny Ryan ran through the doors and straight into the arms of Esposito. For a moment, he looked shocked at the contact from a woman who never seemed to think too much of him, but soon he brought his arms up and held her tightly. An almost physical weight could be seen lifting from each of them. Castle watched as he led her to a row of plastic chairs, sat down with her and began to explain what had happened, never once letting go of her hand.

Castle steeled himself and stepped around the corner. She didn't notice him at first - maybe it was the medical top - but as soon as she registered his face, she was out of her chair. She threw her arms around him, squeezing tight as she kissed his cheek. He could feel the tears clinging to her eyelashes.

"Thank you for getting him out of there," she whispered. Castle didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to do, so he just stood there, trying to exude a comforting presence and feeling like he was failing miserably. Thankfully for him, Beckett showed up next, balancing two cups in each hand.

"Hey guys, I picked up some coffee," she said. She had a look Castle recognized. That one that said "I'm barely holding on, and to counteract that, I've entered damage control for everybody else." He expected more coffee, magazines and crossword puzzles to appear throughout the night. Castle and Esposito each took a cup as Jenny moved her round of hugs Beckett's way and graciously accepted the third. For a moment, they sipped in silence, but soon the ER was inundated with people. Ryan's parents. His sisters, a couple cousins and their families. Not to mention a rotating sea of uniformed officers, coming and going in shifts to pay their respects. The crowd grew so large that hospital staff moved them to a private waiting area on the surgery wing.

Castle sat in a corner, flanked by a ficus on one side and Beckett on the other, like she knew he was trying to hide from the attention he had received from Jenny writ large. But even given all the people, the room was oddly quiet. So quiet that when his phone buzzed, a handful of people jolted.

Castle gave an apologetic grimace and excused himself into the hallway. The caller ID said "home" and as soon as answered, Alexis voice, panicked and high pitched sounded in his ear.

"Dad! We heard on the news Ryan got shot! Is everything OK? Are you OK?"

"Sweetheart, I'm fine," he answered. He didn't feel fine, but he kept his voice calm. As Alexis continued to pepper him with questions, a man squeezed by him and entered the waiting room. If his demeanor hadn't screamed doctor, the white lab coat and full set of scrubs that matched Castle's top left no doubt.

Castle listened to her questions a little longer and tried to answer them, all the while staring into the waiting room. He wanted to be in there to hear firsthand what was being said, but he couldn't just hang up on his daughter. Through the window, he watched the two faces he knew he could trust the most. Beckett was concentrating, taking in every word and filing it away. Esposito was expressionless, which was an odd comfort. Castle figured even he wouldn't be able to hide his feelings if bad news were coming. He turned his attention back to the phone.

"Did they catch the guy?"

"Honey, I don't know. I came to the hospital with Ryan and nobody's said anything about it yet."

Had they caught the guy? He hadn't given the suspect much thought since Ryan had been hit, and now found himself wanting to know more than ever. The doctor came out of the room and gave Castle a nod as he continued down the hallway. Beckett followed him out a moment later, and Castle rushed to wrap up his call with Alexis and crammed the phone back in his pocket.

"What's going on? Is everything okay?" he winced a little bit, realizing just how much like Alexis he sounded, and how being bombarded with questions had made him feel. But Beckett took it in stride.

"He's still in surgery-"

"Still in surgery? Well what was the doc doing out here?"

"That wasn't one of his surgeons," Beckett answered as she ran a hand down his sleeve and let her fingers curl slightly around his pinky. "He said it could be another 12 or 13 hours before we know anything, and they'd keep in touch with us over the phone if anyone wants to go home for a little while." He was about to object to the notion when Beckett carried on. "I think it's probably a good idea."

"A good idea? Why?!"

"Castle, look at yourself. You're a wreck!"

"I took a shower, I'm fine,"

"Castle." She took both of his hands in hers and stared into his eyes. "Let me take you home. You can see Alexis, get some rest, and if anything changes you can be back in a flash. Please?"

Castle dropped his eyes to the floor and nodded. They said a quick goodbye to the room - Ryan's mother squeezed his hand far tighter than he thought her age would have allowed - nodded at Esposito, and grabbed his bag before allowing Beckett to lead him out of the hospital and to a taxi waiting on the street. When she had called, he had no idea, but he was mildly surprised when she slid into the seat next to him.

"Just making sure you get there," she said as she patted his knee before taking hold of his hand again. They drove a few minutes in silence until Castle couldn't bear it any longer.

"You catch the guy?"

Beckett pursed her lips and looked down before answering.

"He didn't make it out."

"He's dead?"

"Yeah."

It probably shouldn't have been a comforting thought. Somebody - probably one of his friends - had to carry the burden of killing a man. And With no murder suspect to take to court, there were families who would never see justice for their loved ones - not the way it was supposed to be, anyway. But at the same, time Castle couldn't help but feel a little bit glad. An eye for an eye, after all.

"How many other people were there?"

Beckett looked at him quizically.

"What do you mean?"

"There was all that gunfire," Castle said. "No way it just came from one guy." Beckett nodded as if she were just remembering a piece of a riddle.

"Right. He was the only shooter-"

"Not possible."

"But he had other weapons set up on a remote and timer. They were all firing blanks, but we couldn't have known that."

"But Ryan..."

Beckett drew a breath. There was a slight shake behind it.

"He was the only one with live ammo. He took out...he fired, I don't know how he chose, but he fired and everything else was just to distract us. It was actually somebody from Port Authority that got him." The words tumbled out in a ramble that betrayed the exhaustion and heartache Beckett had been working so hard to hide, and Castle wrapped an arm around her shoulder and held her close for the rest of the ride home.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"For what?"

"Never asking how you were doing."

Beckett let herself be drawn into him. She said nothing but didn't deny feeling guilty for not noticing that one of her detectives had been shot. Not that she could have or should have in that particular moment, but that knowledge did nothing to make her feel better. When they arrived at Castle's building she slid out of the cab and gave him a hug - different from the others he had received that night - before getting back in and heading to her apartment.


	3. Chapter 3

Castle pushed open his front door and was immediately rushed by Alexis, who attached herself to him.

"When we heard it was Detective Ryan, we were so worried," she said into his shirt. He could feel her tears through the thin fabric.

"It's okay," Castle said as he rubbed her back. "I'm fine, Ryan's going to be fine, you'll see. It'll all be okay." She calmed at the words and stepped back, rubbing her eyes.

"Sorry," she sniffed. "I didn't mean to just jump on you like that." Castle grinned and wrapped an arm around her shoulders as they walked toward the couch.

"Are you kidding?" he said "I love getting hugs from you." He kissed her head and deposited her on the sofa before retiring to his room to change clothes. The green scrub top was tossed into a far corner of his closet, replaced with a simple black cotton T-shirt. The slacks and dress shoes traded for navy blue sweat pants and a warm pair of wool socks.

When he returned to the living room, Alexis was gone. She had an early test tomorrow, Castle knew, and had probably gone to bed early. His mother was still there, though, and he had no sooner than shut the door to his office before a glass of red wine was thrust into his hand.

"How you doing, kiddo?" she asked as she settled into the sofa's cushions. He sat down next to her.

"I'm fine, mother."

"Richard." One word was all it took for Castle to know his cover was blown. It didn't matter how many books he wrote or how good of a storyteller he became, she could always see right through him. He closed his eyes and took a large gulp of his drink before setting it down.

"I don't understand," he began. "I've been around. I've seen a lot - I've been held at gunpoint before, for Christ's sake - but this...this was terrifying."

"Oh, darling, of course it was!" Martha exclaimed. "This wasn't a stranger, it's a friend. Of course it was terrifying." She rubbed her hand up and down his forearm like she used to do when he felt ill or nervous as a child and scooted closer. He tried to speak. To open his mouth and refute the idea that the strangers they found in alleys should mean less, but no sound came out. Air caught in his throat, and all he could do was swallow it back down. She pulled him to her, let his head rest on her shoulder with her arms wrapped around him. He didn't cry, but snuggled against his mother, who after all these years somehow smelled just like she did when he was five. A sense of calm finally began to wash over him, drowning out the numbness he'd felt since leaving the warehouse.

When she released him, she held his face in her hands for a moment before stroking his hair gently and rising from her seat.

"It's been a long day, Richard," she said.

"Heading to bed, mother?"

"A girl must get her beauty rest, after all." She stared at him for a second longer before sweeping out of the room "And you should get some rest, too, dear."

He probably should have, but if anything, the heart-to-heart with his mother had energized him, left him feeling too awake to possibly lie in bed and worry and hope. So instead, he walked into his office, sat down at his desk and pressed the power button on his laptop.

Unfortunately, "awake" was not the same as "ready to write," and he soon found himself gazing around the room. His eyes landed on a glossy green corner poking out beneath a stack of mail, research and notes. He gave the corner a tug until it was freed from the mountain of other paper and held it in his hands.

It was an independent magazine full of science fiction and fantasy. Poems. Short stories. Serials. It was a touch of old school quality in a world that seemed to be shifting toward a self-publishing free-for-all of dreck and drivel. Ryan had introduced him to it, actually. Well, sort of.

About a month ago, Castle had been at the precinct, waiting for Beckett with two cups of coffee in his hands when he spied Ryan, hunched over in his chair, just the corner tips of the magazine visible over the desk, one hand trying unsuccessfully to hide a smile. Castle was about to go ask him what was so engrossing when Esposito came up behind and slapped both hands down on his shoulders. Ryan jumped about a mile.

"No porn at work, bro" Esposito said with a chuckle. "What, Jenny won't let you keep it at home?"

Ryan rolled his eyes and tossed the magazine face-down on the desk before stacking it up among other folders and paperwork. Esposito didn't even notice he was hiding it among the files, and Castle probably wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been watching. It was really quite the expert move, and fast too, he was done before he even finished speaking.

"Oh, grow up Esposito. Read a book sometime." Esposito arched an eyebrow and opened his mouth to speak, but Ryan beat him to it. "And Castle's don't count."

"Hey!" Castle raised his coffee-laden hands in the air and gave a look.

"No offense, Castle," Ryan said as Castle made his way to their desk and slipped into a chair.

"Oh, none taken" he said. "Of course I *expect* you all to read my books. But just for that, no coffee for you." He floated the cup under Ryan's nose before pulling it away.

"Isn't that Beckett's coffee, anyway?"

"It better be," Beckett answered, striding over to them and plucking the cup from Castle's hand and taking a long drink.

"Neighbor's still at it?" Castle asked.

"5 a.m." Beckett replied. "5 a.m. Who needs to be tearing down walls and doing heavy construction at FIVE A.M.!" She took another sip of her drink. "Anway, do we have anything new on the Sanderson case?" And with that, the day had started, and soon everyone was engrossed in trying to solve a murder, and nobody noticed Castle quickly rifling through the stack on Ryan's desk to find the name of the magazine.

He bought a copy the next day and spent an evening skimming over its pages. Poetry for Space Cowboys caught his eye about a third of the way through, but it didn't strike Castle as the sort of thing Ryan would be reading. He was tired and about to give up when an opening line jumped out at him.

 _For John Quinn, dying was only the beginning._

At first, he hadn't been able to place the phrase, but he knew something about it was familiar. And then he remembered the night Ryan and Jenny had invited him and Beckett and Esposito to their new apartment. They had just signed the lease, giving them their first place that was *theirs* and not his or hers. Dinner had been great, but by the end of it, Castle had needed to use the restroom.

"Just through the office," Jenny had said as she carried a cake from the kitchen to the table. Castle had always had a thing for offices. He hurried through the bathroom, but he took his time leaving the office. It was small, but the back wall was lined with shelves.

Ryan really had quite a few books for the size of the place - and for the amount of free time being a cop allowed. Sure, a few knicknacks separated the collection - including 12-inch Gandalf action figure Castle couldn't help but covet - and some of the books could have been Jenny's, but Jenny didn't really strike him as Tolkien fan. Or Stephen King. In fact, it was a tattered, clearly well-read copy of King's memoir sitting on the desk that caught Castle's eye next. He'd read the book - he and King had different approaches to writing, sure, but he couldn't deny it was a good read.

Later that night, he had approached Jenny, fishing for information or acknowledgement that it was mostly her collection.

"Oh, no, it's like 90 percent his," she answered. "He probably wouldn't tell a lot of people - at least not before you started working with them - but he loves to read." She told him that, after Beckett made them delve into his books when a killer was emulating them, Ryan started tearing through Castle's collection at a break-neck pace - sometimes more than once after hitting the Derrick Storm series, re-reading for missed connections and clues that tied them all together. That explained the chunk of real estate Castle's own books had taken up in the home library.

Castle had been about to leave the office when he saw the scraps of paper on the desk. Variations of the same sentence had been written down and crossed out:

 _Life began for John Quinn after he died_ _  
_ _Death was only the beginning for John Quinn_ _  
_ _John Quinn died and then everything went to shit._

That last one actually had a handful of strikes exing it off the page. But then, beneath it all, circled in green pen was

 _For John Quinn, dying was only the beginning._

Castle had broken into the biggest grin the day he found the magazine, remembered the office experience and finally made the connection between all of it and the byline identifying the author as a first-time contributor named Ryan O'Malley. Looking at the page again brought all those memories back. Ryan - their little Kevin Ryan - was writing. And writing well, Castle couldn't help but notice.

The story was about a man who had been in accident that killed him for two minutes. When he woke up, everything seemed normal until he started displaying certain...talents...that led to recruitment by a group of people like himself. People who had died and come back different. The working theory was that the shock of death and resurrection awakened latent magical powers that everybody had. Modern day wizardry with a smattering of Catholic influence in a classic tale of good versus evil.

In Castle's first weeks at the precinct. Ryan had asked him some casual questions about writing, but nothing that seemed more meaningful than engaging him in polite conversation. Not long after, Castle was googling his new "co-workers" when he stumbled upon The Ryan Report, full of life observation and safe-for-the-public anecdotes. He didn't follow it, and didn't return very often after reading the first few posts. The writing wasn't bad, but it had the definite air of somebody struggling in scant free time to find their own voice.

But he seemed to have found it.

Briefly, Castle had wondered why Ryan never come to him after those initial conversations. Writing like this, he would have been more than happy to introduce him to a few agents, maybe grease some wheels on a manuscript. But that wouldn't have been Ryan, Castle realized. The man had a tenacious need to do things on his own steam and a dogged fight to never give up. But he was also kind and loyal and wouldn't want to seem like he was exploiting a friendship with Castle for personal gain - or stealing Castle's thunder as the resident writer of the NYPD. Plus, he liked being a cop. Castle was a full-time writer for 15 years before he started splitting his time between penning stories and solving murders. He understood if Ryan didn't want that life. Maybe for him, writing was an outlet. A release of the day's tensions that was enough to satisfy his muse.

But getting published - having your work validated by someone else - was still an amazing feeling. And there were, after all, myriad roads to being a writer. Castle had gone straight to writing novels (and being rejected frequently) but plenty of authors - renowned today - got their start 5-cent magazines and anthologies.

It was with that in mind that Castle had begun planning Ryan's Christmas gift: A vintage collection of Ray Bradbury novels, and tucked within the pages of Fahrenheit 451 was a copy of Ryan's own story, gently removed from its magazine and covered with a large Post-It note that Castle had spent far too long composing:

 _Kevin, I hope I'm not way off base with my belief that this is your story. If I am, here's a great story! Give it a read and enjoy! But if I'm not, I just wanted to let you know that finding this was a pleasant surprise. You've got a talent for stories and an ear for words, and I can't wait to find out what happens next for John Quinn. All the best, Castle._

Castle pulled the note toward him - assembling and wrapping the gift was still on his to-do list - and read the words again, this time hoping that Ryan would get to read them at all.

It really shouldn't have been a surprise to find Ryan published somewhere: For all the things that made them different - Castle's mischievous childishness and vagabond fashion compared to Ryan's button-down professionalism - they both shared a penchant for flights of fancy and whimsy. Sometimes he thought Ryan was just indulging him when he would go on a tear about bigfoot or vampires or evil covens of witches, but other times he felt like Ryan enjoyed the tale of it all just as much as Castle enjoyed telling it.

The thought made something start to click in Castle's brain. He'd been blocked for weeks. Unable to write, at times unable to even _want_ to write. But somehow, knowing that Ryan was waiting for his next story, made his fingers itch.

He pulled his laptop closer, sat up in his chair and began to type.

The scene he hadn't been able to find a way out of, he turned over to Detective Raley. Dialogue spilled across the page almost before Castle could even think it.

The parallels in the Nikki Heat books weren't terribly subtle. Pretty much everyone who knew Castle shadowed the 12th precinct and Kate Beckett for inspiration could gather that Rook was Castle, Nikki was Beckett and Raley and Ochoa were an amalgamation of Ryan and Esposito. So he probably couldn't have been blamed if the words he wrote recreated the night's events, now with a decidedly happy ending. Or even if he just put all his energy into letting Raley save the day and be a hero.

But Castle didn't do that. He didn't think about whether it would be fair to the universe or conspicuous to a crowd, he just didn't do it. Instead, he let those Raley scenes get his heart pumping and juices flowing. And from there, everything else filled itself in. Holes in the plot, flesh for the villain, and even an unplanned red herring sprung forth from nothing. And once Castle had started writing, he didn't stop. Writing through the night, he didn't get up to go to the bathroom, to get a drink or a snack or even just to stretch his legs or focus on something else for a minute. No, it was all on the story.

He might have fallen asleep at his desk a few times, but when he awoke, it was never with the groggy sense that maybe he should go to bed. Instead, he awoke with more energy and more ideas, and finally when the sun was just beginning to shine through the window, the last sentence revealed itself.

Castle didn't know how many words he had typed. He didn't know how many typos, misspellings and run-on sentences lurked in the pages - and in fact, he was even too afraid to look down and see how many pages his document had become. Instead, he just leaned back in his chair, stretched his arms over his head and smiled. It wasn't until he heard the unmistakeable clink of dishware and the crinkle of cereal box cellophane that he realized Alexis must be up. That was when Castle finally looked at his clock.

6:30 a.m.

He rubbed his eyes and did the math in his head. Ryan should be out of surgery in about three hours. He checked his phone, making sure he somehow hadn't missed a call or text from Beckett, but its screen was happily dark with not even the low battery light signalling trouble.

He rubbed his hand across his face once more, this time taking note of the stubble that had sprouted up and the bit of grit in his eyes. With another stretch and a yawn, he stood and clicked a few buttons on the laptop. As he headed for the bathroom, he could hear the printer begin to hum to life.

He took a cool shower, this one far more refreshing than the one he had taken a little less than 10 hours prior. By the time he was clean and shaved, he felt far readier to tackle the day than he'd felt on any other morning that included more than - in his estimation - a broken two hours of sleep.

He dressed in slacks and a dress shirt - blue this time - and headed to the living room. Alexis was still eating a bowl of cereal when he arrived.

"Hey, dad," she said after swallowing a mouthful. "Did you sleep OK?"

"Eh...sort of." It wasn't a lie. Those minutes at a time crashed out across his desk seemed fairly rejuvenating, after all.

"Heard anything about Ryan?"

"Not yet." He tapped his phone, and gave it another glance. The volume was at full blast and it was set to vibrate for all calls, messages and notifications - and given that he was never more than a few inches from it, it seemed unlikely that he would miss anything, but he was paranoid just the same. "So, big test today?" he said, putting the attention back on her.

"Yeah, half the grade."

"You ready?"

"Always," she said with a smile as she set her bowl in the sink. But just to be safe I was going to meet Kimmie and Lynn at a coffee shop near school for a last minute quiz session. So...can I go?"

Castle checked his phone. It was 7. It didn't seem like that much time had passed.

"Sure," he said. "Do good things."

"I will. And you'll send me a text if you hear anything about Ryan?"

"I will. But don't you worry about anything. You just go in there and knock your test out of the park. Like you always do."

She smiled and kissed his cheek before grabbing her bag and disappearing out the door.

Castle made his own bowl of cereal and had just finished eating and washing the dishes when his phone chirped and buzzed and almost ran itself off the counter before he could reach it. He slid his finger across the screen without even looking and brought it to his ear.

"Beckett?" There was silence, and he could actually feel his heart sinking. "Kate?" A horn blared into his ear before a robot woman started trying to sell him a cruise.

"I don't want to go anywhere on your boats!" he yelled into the empty line before jabbing his finger at the screen and slamming his phone onto the counter, only to quickly pick it back up and assess the screen for cracks or any other damage that would render his lifeline useless.

"Richard, what in the world?!" Martha appeared at the top of the steps, clad in a floral bathrobe. Her hair was held up by an elastic band, and green paste was spread across her face. It might have been comical if Castle had actually given her a look.

"It's these stupid robo-calls," he said. "There should be a law. I think there IS a law. I'm calling my lawyer." He picked up the phone and dialed a few numbers before putting back down. "I'll do it when Ryan's out."

"Richard, sweetheart, you need to calm down." She walked over to him and rubbed his shoulders. "It's going to be okay," she said. "Want some breakfast? I could make pancakes." Castle looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Your pancakes, mother?" she stared back expectantly. "Can you tell me what the sugar to flour ratio is in pancakes?" She raised a finger and opened her mouth before closing it and thinking some more.

"Oh, who cares about ratios, Richard, this isn't math class. A little of this, a little of that, it all works out in the end."

"And THAT is why I'll pass on the pancakes."

"Suit yourself, kiddo." She laughed and kissed his cheek, wincing at the green goop she left behind. "Whoops, sorry darling." She grabbed a dish towel and dabbed at the spot "Well at least part of you will be well-moisturized."

He laughed as she walked away. It was probably the first real laugh he had given since that night, and it felt good to be thinking about something else. When Martha returned, she was fully dressed and ready to start her day. Castle hadn't moved.

"Richard, is that your printer?" she asked. "It's been going all morning."

"Yeah, I finished the book. Well, the first draft," he corrected.

"Finished? It was just two nights ago you said you still had half of it to go and didn't really know who the killer was."

"What can I say, I figured it out and got on a roll."

"Well, congratulations, darling," she said as she kissed his cheek again. "I'd love to celebrate the first of what I'm sure will be many drafts, but I have to run. Stage combat won't teach itself, after all."

And with that, she was out the door, leaving Castle alone in an eerily silent loft, broken only by the whirring sound of the printer. He wandered at first, entirely unsure of what to do next. For a moment, he paced, tossing a small rubber ball off the walls or counter tops, listening to the rhythmic thumps as it bounced back into his hand. But soon he realized, he couldn't just wait here forever.

He was just tying his shoe laces when the phone rang. And of course, this was the one time that it was in the other room. Castle went running from his bedroom, vaulted over the couch and snapped it up off the counter.

"I swear, if you blow a horn in my ear, I will hunt somebody down."

"What? Castle-"

"Beckett?" It was the call he had been waiting on and hoping for, but it was early and it still took him by surprise. "Is everything okay?" There was probably only a nanosecond of silence, but it felt like an eternity.

"He's coming out of surgery now," she said. "The doctor says it all went great. They think he's going to be just fine."

"YES!" Castle pumped his fist in the air, maybe even jumped around a little bit, as he celebrated. "Is everyone still there?"

"Everyone's here, yeah. Come join us."

"You don't have to tell me twice," he was already back in his bedroom and had kicked off the half-tied shoe, trading it instead for a pair of slip-on loafers. "I'll be right over." As he hung up the phone, he couldn't keep the grin off his face. He grabbed his wallet and his keys, jamming them into pockets as he walked for the door, only to stop and check the time. 8:02. Alexis' class was starting in just a few minutes, so he quickly whipped out his phone and sent her a message.

"Just heard. Ryan fine. Good Luck on test. 3 :D:D"

His hand was on the door handle when he paused, looking back at his office. Quickly he went back, grabbed the stack of pages from the printer and shoved them into a leather bag before making a bee line for the hospital.

Kate and Esposito were waiting at the hospital doors for him. He swept her up into a hug, and even grabbed Esposito by the sleeve, pulling him in. None of the could stop smiling.

When they reached the recovery wing, he saw Ryan's family still there, but these new circumstances left him seeing them in a different light. They weren't people whose attention he feared nor faces so similar to Ryan's he couldn't bear to look at them. They were just family, no doubt feeling the same enormous sense of relief he was. He scanned the room looking for a pretty blonde, but came up empty.

"Where's Jenny?"

"She's in with Ryan and his parents," Esposito said. "Nurse Ratched over there was being picky about how many and who could go in."

In a matter of perfect timing, the door opened and Ryan's parents emerged. She was still dabbing at her eyes, and even Mr. Ryan looked like more than a few tears had been shed. Castle kept his distance, but as soon as they saw him, they headed straight in his direction. This time, Castle welcomed them as they swept him into a long, loving hug.

As they released him, Jenny stepped out of the room.

"Hey, Castle, how are you?" she said with a smile as she kissed his cheek.

"Better now," he said. "I'm glad the surgery went well."

"Yes, it did," she said. "In fact, Kevin wants to see you."

"He does?" She nodded and motioned him to the door.

"He's been in and out, so if he's asleep, just give him a few minutes. And don't take it personally if he falls asleep on you later."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

She smiled and brushed his sleeve as he opened the door and slipped into the room.

"Hey, Castle." The greeting was long and drawn out. A side effect, Castle assumed, of the massive amount of drugs coursing through his friend's veins. Ryan smiled at him, and tried to reach out a hand, before scowling at the IV tethered to his arm. He reached for the small tube, and Castle hurried forward, taking Ryan's hand in his own. Ryan relaxed and closed his eyes with a sigh.

"Hey yourself," Castle said. "You know, you gave us all a real good scare."

"Sorry 'bout that."

"Jenny said you wanted to see me."

"Yeah," Ryan opened his eyes and looked at Castle. His voice was low and scratchy, no doubt a result of the breathing tube from surgery. "Yeah. I just...I'm sure you've heard it a ton, but..." his voice trailed off, and Castle thought he could see his eyes glistening.

"What is it?"

"Thank you for saving me," he said. "There's too much that I don't want to miss." His grip tightened in Castle's hand as he swallowed hard.

"You're welcome," Castle replied. Gently releasing Ryan's hand, he turned to his bag and held it up. "Speaking of things you don't want to miss, I have in this bag, a hot-from-the-printer, very first draft of the next Nikki Heat book."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Wanna read a little?"

Castle grinned and pulled the visitor's chair closer to the bed. He was about to undo the clasps when he noticed Ryan's heavy eyelids and deep breaths.

"We could do it another time," Castle said. "When you're feeling better, because right now you look like you're about to drop."

"Nuh uh," Ryan muttered. "Not going anywhere. Just resting my eyes."

Castle nodded, giving his friend one last look-over before pulling a stack of paper from his bag and beginning to read.

The End.


End file.
